Six Conversations With Caroline
by neithersaintnorsinner
Summary: Lizzie Bennet Diaries universe. Six conversations, important and not-so-important, Caroline has over the course of LBD and after. Chapter 6/6: Lizzie and Caroline, post-vlogs.
1. this charade of nonchalance

Disquieting. If Darcy were asked to describe the atmosphere at Thanksgiving dinner in a single word, he'd choose _disquieting_. There is a palpable uneasiness in the room, and not merely because he and Caroline have been sidestepping each other for almost a month. Bing's continued obliviousness with regard to much of what happened over the summer weighs heavily on his conscience as well.

Yet he can't bring himself to tell Bing about the videos. It feels like a betrayal of Lizzie's trust, though Darcy knows he's earned neither her trust nor her affection. In any case, Bing hasn't mentioned Jane once since returning to Los Angeles. He seems to have parted from her without a second thought. Would it benefit anything besides Darcy's own conscience to dredge up the past?

Still, his judgment has made such serious errors recently that this reasoning doesn't fully reassure him. He feels ill at ease every time something that could conceivably be related to recent events comes up. Bing and Gigi are blissfully insensible of the source of the tension, of course, and between them and Fitz there is some semblance of normal conversation.

It is at least far preferable to dinner at Aunt Catherine's. Thank heavens for her fondness for Europe in the fall. And while he's contemplating thankfulness, words are insufficient to express his gratitude that Caroline allowed Fitz to handle dessert. The other courses had been…an experience. It's anomalous; Caroline is typically adept at managing such events.

Darcy does not think it presumptuous to assume her discomfort around him arises from his knowledge of her presence on Lizzie's vlogs. Presumptuousness would be blindly accepting Lizzie's explanation for Caroline's actions. It seems unsatisfactory. Caroline _has_ always acted very friendly towards him—the subject is fertile ground for comment in his social circle, though he's never felt anything beyond platonic attachment to her—but he's noticed a distinct difference in her conduct around him compared to her past romantic partners.

Perhaps he's mistaken. Caroline can be difficult to read, and she has a way of making a single word seem to mean a thousand different things. He looks across the table. Caroline's hair is somewhat mussed, and her cheeks have an unusual amount of color. She's gathering the loose corner of tablecloth at her side into a knot, her fingers curling into a fist.

She catches his glance and swiftly turns to ask Gigi about her plans for graduate school.

/

It's not like Caroline enjoys ignoring him. She's just never been good at handling messy situations, not with Darcy. But, ever the gentleman, he follows her into the kitchen after dinner to ask if she needs any assistance clearing up.

"No," she clutches the plate in her hands with more firmness than quite necessary, "No, it's fine."

He glances around the empty room. "Were your household staff not available for this evening?"

"Bing sent them home…it was nice of him," she adds, belatedly, although she would have appreciated a heads up that she'd be preparing Thanksgiving dinner without the secret assistance she'd been banking on.

They both look down, uncomfortable. Bing is nice. Which is more than can be said for either of them. It's funny; she used to wonder what held him and Bing together as friends, since they had so little in common, personality-wise.

Obviously she'd overlooked the importance of exceptionally poor taste in women.

"I see." Darcy straightens his shoulders, rocks backward on his heels like he's about to turn and leave. "Well, I should—"

She feels a sweep of irritation at the way he's towering over her right now, with the same stiffness he'd had when they first met. She hates this distant courtesy; that he's choosing to maintain a pretense of civility instead of _confronting_ her, yelling or swearing or telling her to go to hell. She's never been able to get under his skin.

Of course she hasn't. You have to care enough about someone to bother being outraged.

She blurts it out. "Why aren't you asking me about Lizzie's vlogs?"

He puts his hands in his pockets, a muscle twitching familiarly in his jaw. "What would you like me to say? They aren't exactly a pleasant memory for me to revisit."

Caroline swallows, takes a moment to assess the best way to phrase her next sentence. "I know I let Lizzie persist in certain," she pauses for emphasis, "Preconceived ideas about you."

"You misunderstand me," he shakes his head, "Lizzie's videos were not entirely inaccurate; on the contrary, the conversations depicted were often verbatim. Much of my behavior _warranted _criticism, and I can hardly blame her for taking an immediate dislike to me. Lizzie's abhorrence of me, and her complaints about me, occurred long before you appeared on camera. I simply did not expect you to join in her contempt."

She feels something suspiciously like guilt at the quiet reproof. "You know I never actually said I agreed with her."

Darcy draws his head back, brows furrowed, and she can almost _see_ him turning over her words to comprehend her meaning. "And going to see her at Collins and Collins?"

"She mentioned rethinking her once good opinion about someone; I thought she might have meant me. For obvious reasons I would have preferred to keep my…involvement in encouraging Bing to leave Netherfield under wraps, but under the circumstances…"

There it is again, that inconvenient guilt over certain choices she's made, but it's the work of a moment to restore all of her original thoughts on consequentialism. She's right about all of this. She has to be.

He lifts his chin and pauses for the briefest moment before dropping it in a nod. "My letter had nothing to do with that."

Well_, obviously_. How incredibly helpful for him to point that out after the fact. She tries not to let her thoughts linger on that letter, on what exactly an acquaintance of mere months deserves to know that she does not. Her hair feels unbearably hot on her neck.

"So I gathered. Regardless, you'll understand why I refuse to apologize for my involvement in my family's _private_ affairs, Lizzie Bennet's snarky commentary notwithstanding."

Darcy hesitates. "The matter involving Bing aside, I thought perhaps your behavior was due to—an emotional reaction over—something."

"Something," she repeats, as if trying to taste the implication in the word.

"Lizzie appeared to be under the impression—"

Caroline wonders, just for a second, if she should give up this charade of nonchalance when it comes to her feelings about him. If she should try emotional honesty for a change. But she looks at him and the words _Lizzie Bennet I'm-m in love with you _echo tremulously in her ears and she somehow feels ten times more exhausted than she did thirty seconds ago.

Vulnerable is one thing she's never risked wearing.

"I think we're both aware Lizzie's assessment of things isn't always accurate."

Before he can respond, Bing, Fitz and Gigi come in holding mostly full platters of food and empty pie tins. It's an unintentionally mocking testimonial of her disastrous dinner effort. She and Darcy step apart.

"Looks like the pumpkin and pecan pies were profoundly popular," Fitz says, his grin growing with each successive 'p' sound, "I think I'll tweet my victory to the adoring masses…what?"

Caroline rolls her eyes. She's had her fill of feeling foolish for tonight; she hates the way it prickles in her blood. She grabs a nearby unopened bottle of wine, gives Darcy one last, lingering look, and heads upstairs.


	2. practiced neutrality

"…so anyway, I figured I'd just push my applications to after winter break," Gigi blows at the steam rising off her ginger tea in the vain hope it'll assuage the way her intestines seem to squiggle every time someone mentions grad school.

Caroline nods like she understands, but she's been a little withdrawn throughout their conversation, and there's an awkward pause. Gigi chews her lip and glances around the crowded coffee shop.

They've spoken a lot less than usual lately, although Caroline immediately agreed to her suggestion of meeting up before winter break. Gigi gets the sense Caroline is feeling her out; she just isn't sure _why_. Everyone seems to be keeping quiet about something, and it makes her feel annoyingly young. She still feels like the world's baby sister sometimes, overlooked and silly and soft.

Caroline, by contrast, has always been sharp edges and hard lines, from her angular cheekbones to her pin straight hair—and yet she's a friend, in her own way. It's rare for her to be genuinely affectionate with anyone other than Bing, but there are scattered instances of real warmth. Helping Gigi choose between prom dresses. Marathoning Kubrick movies with her one weekend for her film studies class. Even answering Gigi's clumsy questions about sex when she needed someone female and worldly and _not a blood relative _to talk to.

(Her brother, bless his heart, had done his uneasy best on that conversation, but he'd also tried to persuade her the age of consent in California was 80 for a lot longer than necessary.)

Gigi's eyes narrow in renewed suspicion. Right. William. Caroline only asks after him in elaborately casual terms, and never lets anything obvious slip when it comes to her feelings about him, but Gigi's known for a while—known from Caroline's infinitesimal hesitation before ever discussing him, from the way her smile lingers longer and just a little more freely when his name comes up.

It's a pity they're wrong for each other; he's a weakness Caroline's had for some time, and goodness knows Aunt Catherine would like nothing better than to see that relationship, but Gigi understands that Caroline is too hard, too calculating and cold for her brother.

He'd brushed off Gigi's questioning at Thanksgiving, but, nothing ventured…

"Did something happen with you and William?" The question pops out with much less finesse than she'd intended.

Caroline's bending forward to take a delicate sip of her latte, but at this she pauses, sets the cup in its saucer, and leans back in her chair. "Why do you ask that?"

She says this in a voice Gigi privately thinks of as Caroline's 'frozen voice'; it just _exudes_ practiced neutrality.

Gigi shrugs. "Things between you guys seem, I don't know. Tense. Like you had a fight or something."

"No. Nothing happened."

Gigi presses on; she's been wondering about her brother for a while now. "He's been acting weird lately. His emails to me are usually from his office account at three in the morning, he never lets Fitz finish a sentence around me, and I'm pretty sure he's grown like, fifteen new gray hairs over the last few months."

Caroline's eyes flick over her with careful interest. "You two haven't—spoken."

"Is there something we're supposed to talk about? Something happened this summer, didn't it?"

She smiles a slow, deliberate smile. "I'm sure if your brother would like to share anything about that particular trip he'll do so at his own leisure."

Her tone indicates doubt on that point, though, and Gigi frowns, crumbles part of her pastry uselessly between her fingers.

Caroline shifts her chair closer to the table. "Speaking of vacations, you must be looking forward to Vail…"

* * *

A/N: I have complicated feelings about Caroline's relationship with Gigi. On the one hand, I think Caroline probably has no compunctions about using any potential intimacy between them to further her relationship with Darcy. But I also think, since Anne Darcy died when Gigi was pretty young, Caroline is likely one of the few older female influences Gigi's had in her life—so she's probably been around for certain key moments of Gigi's life, and someone Gigi looked up to (because if your other option is Catherine de Bourgh. I mean.)

I don't know. I think it's hard to watch/help someone go through that particular phase of growing up without sincerely caring about them, just a little. But I tend to take a pretty sympathetic view of Caroline, so.


	3. a definite note of confusion

**Notes: **I know it isn't stated anywhere in LBD, but based on P&P I'm assuming Bing is the older sibling. This chapter is set shortly after the events of episode 92.

* * *

It has to be a sign that the first thing he notices when he goes to Netherfield to grab a couple things from his room, the first thing that penetrates his state of complete joy that he's about to jump on a plane to New York with Jane, is a picture of Caroline.

Actually it's a picture of all of them—Bing, Caroline, and Darcy. It's from Caroline's 21st birthday. Bing knew her sorority sisters were planning to take her out the following weekend, but he'd persuaded Darcy to come down to L.A. and celebrate, just them. Caroline had had maybe one too many of something called "Blood Sugar Sex Magic" at Rivera. He remembers teasing her for being unsteady on her feet, and getting a friendly bystander to snap a photograph for posterity. He and Darcy each have a supportive arm around her, all three of them laughing as they exit the restaurant.

Bing keeps the picture as proof that Darcy does smile, since people mostly don't believe him when he says so. But it's still Caroline who stands out, because unlike Darcy, she smiles all the time—just not like this. She's blinding. He'd forgotten how _happy_ she could look. And he's about to make her really, really unhappy.

So he waits until they land in New York to make the call. Bing loves his sister, but better to have a couple thousand miles between them when she gets this news.

(He doesn't even want to think about how his parents will react. They like things like plans and details, and he doesn't have much of either yet.)

His stomach feels like it's a bag full of snakes when he pulls out his phone and dials her number. He's never not looked forward to calling Caroline before. He doesn't want to avoid her; he isn't even angry, not anymore. The stuff that happened with Jane, well, it's not like it wasn't his fault too. He's made plenty of mistakes and near-mistakes in the past, and Caroline and Darcy have always looked out for him. They've bailed him out of trouble on more than one occasion. The fact that they were wrong this time doesn't erase all that.

This move just gives him some space to do things on his own terms. Even if that means screwing up. Maybe a chance to screw up is what he needed all along. If Jane can take a risk like leaving everything she knows to pursue her passion, he can too. As soon as he figures out how exactly he's going to do that, anyway.

Caroline picks up on the third ring. "Bing! I was getting worried. I haven't heard from you in a few days."

"Hey, Caroline," he says, his voice cracking a little.

"I thought we could get dinner," she continues, not seeming to notice how weird he sounds. "What about Matsuhisa? I'm sure you can take a break from studying for a few hours. I miss you."

It's one of his favorite restaurants, one Caroline doesn't really care for, and he immediately feels bad. "Actually, I can't. I mean, I'm not—at school right now."

There's a pause at the other end of the line. "Why? Where are you?"

"I was at Netherfield," he admits after a moment. "I saw Jane. We finally talked about a lot of things," he continues, careful to keep from sounding accusatory. "Like what happened the night of my birthday."

Her voice has a definite note of confusion in it now. "Bing, I—she—what you have to understand—" She exhales, collecting herself. "_Jane_?"

"I know it's been months," he says, "And I know I didn't tell you I was still in love with her, but I am. We both still care about each other, and I've made up my mind. I believe her. I saw Lizzie's videos."

She's eerily silent at that. Bing doesn't point out how hurt he was when he found out that everyone knew about those vlogs and he'd been kept in the dark, by Jane, Lizzie, Caroline, Fitz, Darcy—even Gigi. There are more important things to discuss right now.

He takes a breath. "That's, um, that's not everything. Jane got a job in New York and I moved with her. Well, not really with her. She's here, but I came for me, too. I'm getting my own place and everything. To figure some things out."

"You're in New York right now," Caroline echoes, incredulously. "And you've just _moved across the country_ to figure out what, exactly?"

"Well, I'm still not completely sure what I'm going to do here, I just know I can't—"

"Wait, so you just, _decided_ all of this. Randomly. What about _school_?"

Her reaction is too coolly logical, too steady. Bing knows from experience that this composure is much worse than her getting upset right away. It means her rage is clawing up under the surface.

"I—" He hesitates, something unhappy lodged behind his larynx. He hasn't enjoyed how much he's been lying to her all these months, first about school and then about Netherfield and Jane and New York. "I dropped out, Caroline."

She hangs up on him.


	4. a little taller in her high heels

In some ways Catherine is the mother she always wanted.

It feels a little cruel to think that, but it's true, and even if Caroline's relationship with truth is so complex it rivals the one she has with her _actual _mother—well. It is true. There's a calculating ambition about the woman that Caroline admires. Which isn't to say that Catherine is without vexations or eccentricities, but she certainly doesn't deserve the derision various upstart nobodies are eager to assign her. There are plenty of people who, at best, consider Catherine a micromanaging busybody and at worst disparage her as a ruthless bitch.

Of course by all accounts Lewis de Bourgh practiced a similar management style and had only ever been hailed as a titan of industry.

Caroline chooses not to dissect the sexual politics behind that inconsistency. Catherine knows business—knows the ambiguity of it, the messy blend of personal and political. She knows _money_. Caroline always stands a little taller in her high heels when Catherine is around. They've sympathized with each other beyond Darcy for years now.

Catherine summons her to dinner (because invitations suggest a degree of choice in the matter) not long after the fallout of Lizzie's videos. She's livid. Between Darcy leaving his duties at Pemberley to ineffectually wander around Southern California for a few weeks, non-evasive explanations to the board of directors be damned, and then abruptly starting up a serious relationship with a woman he mentioned only as an acquaintance, Catherine's ire towards her nephew has never been greater. Over dinner she barely pauses for breath, the words 'disrespect' and 'most seriously displeased' and 'impertinent' leaving her mouth with impressive efficiency. Her lips are pinched more tightly than the severe bun of graying hair on her head.

It's only after dessert that she fixes Caroline with an unusually appraising stare and demands her opinion on the matter. Caroline studies her nail color as she considers her response. The anger that was so fever-hot and fresh and _foolish_ is long gone. She mostly feels like someone switched out her blood for lead; she has no more energy to spare for men who make inexplicable life decisions.

"You're devastated, of course," Catherine says the next moment, and while Caroline disputes the accuracy of that particular term, it's close enough to the truth to be uncomfortable.

Has literally _everyone_ except Darcy known about her feelings all this time? Well, that's nice and humiliating; so much for priding herself on her reserve. She glances away to avoid replying.

In a rare instance of neglect, Anniekins is sitting unattended in the corner, groaning quietly. Fitz had once joked that Catherine loved her dogs more than all her husbands, former and present, combined. Possibly true, but when it comes to the rest of her family, Catherine's attachment seems as unassailable as a bulwark. There's something pathetically painful about that story; the loss of a sister and a succession of increasingly smaller, sicker show-quality dogs all named "Anne".

"He's a fool," is Catherine's next remark. She sounds almost gentle—well, as close as Catherine can sound to gentle, anyway. "I suppose he'll do as he pleases."

Caroline pulls herself together and discreetly changes the subject.

* * *

**Notes**: Both in P&P and LBD, Darcy's mother-Catherine's sister-is named Anne, and in what I assume is an homage, P&P Catherine names her daughter Anne too. Not sure if "Anniekins" is after Anne Darcy's death, but. Catherine de Bourgh feels, anyone? No? Just me? All right then.


	5. without looking sad at all

She's always been labeled as a party girl, and yeah, maybe she is, but even so Lydia never bought into that whole "drinking alone is for depresso losers" BS. Sure, it's _fun_ to drink with friends, but there are times you just need to be alone and reflective and stuff, and adding booze to that doesn't seem so sad. Unless you're, like, an alky or something.

But maybe she changes her mind a little when she sees Caroline downing a martini by herself at Carter's two nights before Bing and Jane's engagement party. Her cell phone sits untouched on the counter of the bar, just within reach. She looks sad without looking sad at all, and it's a feeling Lydia knows too painfully well.

Caroline's nothing less than perfectly put-together, obviously, with her polished hair and glossy lips. Her eyes are coolly scanning the bar, and Lydia gets the weirdest feeling that they're all test subjects being observed for an experiment. Caroline's always given her the creeps that way. But there's no way to avoid an exchange; she's sitting between Lydia and the opportunity for alcohol.

"What up, C," she says when she walks up to the bar, because she'd be a mega dork to not say anything. She makes it sound bored and distant, though, since Caroline _did _act like a total jerkface to Lizzie and Jane. To everyone, actually.

"Lydia," Caroline leans back in her seat, gives Lydia a quick once-over. "I didn't expect to see you…here."

Like with so many conversations since The Incident, she hears his—George's—name behind the words. At least Caroline doesn't have that gooey look of pity in her eyes most people do; she probably doesn't even feel bad about what happened there. It's a relief, really, with Lizzie and Jane being extra nice, making sure Lydia doesn't freak out with all these fresh reminders about relationships and love and promises.

Not that she doesn't love them for doing that; it just gets wearing. You can't keep scratching at wounds trying to figure them out, you know? Sometimes you need to leave things alone for a while to let them heal.

"Yeah, well, I figured this was the last place anyone'd look for me."

Caroline runs her fingers up and down the stem of her cocktail glass. She raises the drink to her lips and swirls it a couple times before sipping. "I guess I'm not as original as I thought."

Lydia doesn't ask why she decided to spend her time in a bar she hates, too. She figures if _she _finds the whole Lizzie-and-Darcy-inseparable-couple thing majorly gross (adorbs, but gross), Caroline isn't thrilled at all. Which—whatevs. Darcy's hot and rich and he's not a total Darcehole anymore, but he's _so _not the type of dude you should lose your shit over.

But then Lydia's had way worse judgment when it comes to guys.

It's taking forever to get the bartender's attention, so she slides into the seat next to Caroline. The surface of the bar feels familiar under her elbows, wooden and slightly sticky. Caroline raises her eyebrows.

"Don't freak out," Lydia rolls her eyes, "I'm waiting for a drink, not trying to become besties. I'll try not to be too much of an _embarrassment_ while I'm here."

It's a roundabout way of bringing up all the crappy stuff Caroline's said and done about the Bennets, but the meaning isn't lost on her. She doesn't drop her gaze, and she doesn't respond right away, instead stroking her thumb over her lower lip. Her chin is raised a little, like she's considering Lydia from a different angle. Then:

"I suppose I deserve that," she licks her tongue over her teeth. "You're welcome to stay."

That's unexpected. Then again, in a way Caroline's the odd one out in her group, too. She'd never really thought about her like that. They're both just...left over. Lydia clings to her purse, her forehead wrinkled.

Caroline smiles, slow and kind of eerie, like that cat in Alice in Wonderland. "I won't bite, I promise. I'll even buy you a drink." And without waiting for a response, because she's Caroline and doesn't bother to do things like that, she tells the (effortlessly flagged down) bartender: "She'll have a…"

Her voice trails off expectantly.

Lydia shrugs. It doesn't make up for Caroline being a stone cold bitch last year (Lizzie's voice in her head scolds her, insisting that, like "retarded", "bitch" should be rotated out of Lydia's line of insults), but free booze is free booze, you know?

"Jägerbomb."

Caroline blinks a couple times and stares at her like she's trying very hard not to react. Lydia repeats it to the bartender because she's pretty sure the word "Jäger" has never passed from Caroline's lips, and tonight's not about to be the first time.

Still, it turns out Caroline is way cooler when she's been drinking heavily. And she has no trouble keeping pace with Lydia, which is a plus.

It's not like they talk about anything earth shattering. The bro at the back of the bar trying way too hard to get laid, and how epically bad his dye job is. Where Caroline got her totes _chouette_ shoes. (They're probably worth more than Lydia's car). Guilty pleasure reality television. Lydia even manages to drag out the confession that Caroline had gotten Lydia and Lizzie confused for about two hours at the Gibson wedding.

"The brain can only handle so many redheads in a short space of time," she tosses her hair, raises and drops one shoulder.

"Pshhh, yeah right. Jane is the pretty one, I'm the hot one, and Lizzie—" Lydia hesitates. She's used to teasing Lizzie mercilessly, but things are different now.

"Lizzie is the enigma," Caroline finishes for her. She actually keeps her face straight when she says it. "She has that—_je ne sais quoi_."

Seriously, who _uses_ words like enig-whatever in actual conversation? But Caroline sounds kind of complimentary. "I kinda thought you hated her."

Caroline looks at her from the corner of her eye. "No," she bobs the skewered olive in her drink. "I don't."

Huh.

Well, it's not like Lydia doesn't understand having a complicated relationship with Lizzie.

/

She doesn't remember trading phone numbers with Caroline; she just notices it in her phone the next day. But the next time Caroline's in town, they meet up again for drinks.


	6. détente

Lizzie's pretty sure Catherine de Bourgh invites them to these charity events just to make her uncomfortable.

Okay, that's a really self-centered way of looking at things. Obviously she and Darcy are here for…dying birds or needy children or some really obscure disease; whatever vague problem Catherine plans to scold and spend into submission this month. Still, the fact that Lizzie isn't really used to this sort of thing is probably some sort of fringe benefit.

The evenings are a mix of familiar and unfamiliar. Sometimes Charlotte's there; Lizzie's shoes seem to hurt less, and she doesn't oversmile as much, on those nights. Even Darcy doesn't stand with his back so ramrod straight. Occasionally Ricky Collins manages to tear himself away from the 'manifold cosmopolitan attractions' of Winnipeg, Manitoba in order to attend.

But for the most part Lizzie is left to amuse herself with the foibles of the very, very wealthy. She keeps almost all of her irreverence to herself and has a _decent enough _time anyway, the lone ModCloth dress in a sea of Prada.

There are always two constants, though: Catherine, of course. And Caroline Lee.

Thankfully Anniekins isn't permitted to round out this axis of contempt. (Not for lack of trying, social norms regarding acceptable places to bring your dog notwithstanding. "Some preposterous complaints about allergies," Catherine sniffs in defeat one evening to Darcy, and goes on to hire a pet sitter for such occasions who, Lizzie learns, makes more per hour than she spends each month on rent.)

Tonight Catherine is resplendent in a wine-colored gown, and, in a shocking turn of events, busy sermonizing to the group she's gathered around herself.

"…in today's society, where young women have so many opportunities afforded to them, it's quite impossible for them to be _too_ accomplished. There is always something they can improve upon."

She glances at Lizzie meaningfully before taking a delicate sip of her sidecar. She always shoots these looks at her, like Lizzie is something that's just been dredged up from a clogged drain. And it's _not_ 'just her usual expression', whatever Charlotte says.

It's a precious pause in a lengthy speech, and Lizzie can't resist the opportunity. "Oh, I agree. In fact," she adds, archly, "There's really no reason to restrict that statement to young women; I think it's never too late for self-improvement."

Darcy catches her eye and tosses her the tiniest impish smile, like he knows he shouldn't be amused. If Catherine suspects her meaning, it doesn't register on her face, but she continues her lecture to the group at large with a series of plausibly deniable insults at Lizzie's expense.

If it weren't so laughably predictable, it'd be infuriating, really.

Lizzie's sense of humor does have its limits, though, and she ducks into the bathroom at the first opportunity. When she exits the stall, she finds Caroline standing in front of the mirror.

Because _of course_.

There's a stiff moment of hesitation on both sides. She and Caroline have reached a détente, of sorts. Caroline seems to look at a spot over Lizzie's shoulders, and choose her words with care, whenever they speak; they're rarely if ever alone for those conversations. She's in her element at these events, of course; all cool charm and well-dressed sophistication, always with interchangeably handsome, rich-looking dates who have names like 'Hoyt' and 'Pierre' and 'Sven', for crying out loud.

(Seriously, is anyone _actually _named Sven?)

She's also still very much Catherine's golden girl; between her, Gigi, and someone named Blanche Ingram, Catherine has no shortage of people to make patronizing comparisons of Lizzie's merits to.

"Thanks for your help back there," Lizzie finally says, walking towards the sink. It was a joke in her head, but it doesn't really come out that way.

Caroline lifts one shoulder in a quick, casual gesture. "You've always been so adept at handling yourself," she says, her lips raised at the corners. "It's not like you'd trust my assistance anyway."

That's—true. Lizzie shrugs and starts to wash her hands. The water from the tap is scalding hot. She pulls away and waits for it cool, biting back the expletive on her tongue.

Caroline's still examining her own reflection in the mirror, dropping her chin, turning her head from side to side. She rearranges her hair around her neck in a self-satisfied manner.

"How's the startup?"

"Hm? Oh," Lizzie looks up, taken aback. "Uh. Fine. I actually have a new potential investor, so…"

"I heard. Robert Drummond." She smirks when she sees Lizzie's surprise. "Please; in this world there are very few secrets when it comes to money, if you know where to look. His wife is having an affair," she adds, unexpectedly.

Lizzie stares at her, frowning. "Is that…relevant?"

"Mmm," Caroline presses her lips together, assessing the status of her lip stain. "I suppose that depends on whether you schedule your meeting with him before or after they meet with their divorce lawyers; they never signed a prenup."

"Right," she says, slowly. "Thanks?"

She looks at Lizzie and flicks her hair in a way, it suddenly occurs to her, is too perfect to not have been practiced a few dozen times.

"Much as I'm _relishing_ this conversation, I'm afraid I'll have to cut it short. Troy has tickets for—" she draws her eyebrows together, and shrugs off the insignificant detail. "It was lovely to see you, Elizabeth."

Charlotte would be proud; Lizzie manages to say it almost completely without sarcasm: "Yeah, likewise."

Caroline hesitates at the door, turning on those excruciatingly impractical heels.

"Catherine actually does like you, you know," she says after a moment. Her expression is the most genuine Lizzie's seen from her tonight. The 'actually' makes the statement sound condescending, though. "She's always had a high regard for savvy businesswomen. She'd just like you more if you weren't sleeping with her nephew."

Lizzie's eyebrows shoot up. She supposes that's one way, albeit a pretty impersonal way, to describe her relationship with Darcy. (And was that a compliment buried somewhere in all that condescension?)

"Yes, I'm aware she'd prefer Darcy and I weren't together. I'm just at a loss to understand why that's any of her business."

She shrugs that off too. "She'll stop being so…vocal eventually. In the meantime—"

"Get blindly drunk?"

Caroline smiles unexpectedly. Lizzie recognizes the smile because it's like the one Lydia used to give, back even before George, a smile that's meant to cover something quiet and corrosive.

"Save it for when she shows up at your wedding."

/

Three weeks later, when Robert Drummond's investment falls through, Lizzie finds herself wishing she'd followed up on Caroline's tip.


End file.
